Reconciliation
by Hyenaraptor
Summary: He was a monster. He'd turned his back on his own people, shamelessly allowed his men to take countless lives, and enslave even more. But... he was also her older brother, and he hadn't always been that way.
1. Reunion

_So many silent sorrows you never hear from again_

_and now that you've lost tomorrow, is yesterday still a friend?_

– Shinedown, _Through the Ghost_

"Citra… we have located Vaas' body."

Citra Talugmai looked up from the old mural painted onto the temple wall, slightly startled at the sudden voice. Dennis Rogers stood in the opening to the small room, illuminated by the flickering orange glow of the torches. Her mind had been elsewhere; she hadn't heard him approach.

"…Vaas…" she whispered, more to herself than to Dennis. She gave him a vaguely appraising look, her blue eyes cool, collected, betraying no emotion at the news. She'd already known of her brother's demise – after all, his killer _had_ come to her last night and told her himself. Jason Brody. The misplaced but determined young man that since being dropped suddenly into their midst by whatever wild twist of fate had brought him here had become the Rakyat's greatest hope for reclaiming the islands from the invading pirates. Alone, he'd succeeded where so many of her finest warriors had failed before. It was absolutely remarkable; she hadn't a doubt in her mind that soon enough even that monster Hoyt Volker would lay dead at his feet. Her plans for Jason were far from over… but that was a job for another day, certainly. Soon.

"…I am surprised you thought to tell me." she finally said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I would have expected you to throw it into the sea, or leave it out for the wild dogs to ravage…"

Dennis hesitated, lowering his gaze. "It… it was considered. Some of the warriors… _did_ wish malicious intent upon the corpse, but I intervened. I forbade them to touch it." He glanced back up at her. "It is still there, at his compound. I just thought it more appropriate to ask what you might wish to do with it first, seeing as… well, you _are_ the leader. And his kin."

His voice died a bit with those last three words, and he looked away again, as if he'd uttered something disrespectful, taboo. Citra said nothing in response; instead, she turned her back to him, traipsing slowly across the little stone chamber. She folded her arms in front of her, suddenly swept up in her own thoughts…

_Vaas… my brother… is finally dead. _The words had such a strange, almost unbelievable weight to them. _Vaas. Dead._ It was something that she – that the _entire_ Rakyat tribe – had been waiting so long to hear. Vaas Montenegro, the pirate lord, the ruthless boogeyman that had gripped the Rook Islands in a vice of perpetual terror for _years_… was finally gone. It was almost too good to be true and yet, it _was_. This was nearly a cause for celebration, but she knew it was far too early for such things, and even still, it felt so… odd. She'd expected to rejoice someday upon receiving this news, knowing that the lives of the innocents, the warriors Vaas had shamelessly taken were now avenged, but instead… she'd only found herself pulled into a tide of bizarre, warring emotions that she couldn't quite identify, pushed to and fro between _trying_ to feel that sense of rejoice… and instead feeling something else entirely. She disliked it. It made her feel more uncomfortable than she let on.

She paused, staring down at the ground before her, brows furrowing. She couldn't help but wonder how many people even knew she and Vaas were related whatsoever; it wasn't a fact she liked to share openly, unsure of how others may react to it. She… hadn't even seen him herself in years. Hadn't spoken to him, hadn't been near him, nothing. It was too dangerous to. They may as well have been on opposite sides of a storm-tossed ocean. The leaders of two opposing forces, mortal enemies… and yet, he was still her older brother. And that thought alone was enough to drive a small spike of morbid curiosity into her heart; what had become of him in the years since their last exchange, which had ended with them fighting viciously and him running away, never to return to his tribe again? Since she tried to…

Her lip curled. The memory of that night was surprisingly more bitter than she'd expected it to be, though it wasn't the first time she'd thought back on it. But the fact remained – her brother was in her thoughts more frequently than anybody realized. He always had been, really. Now was her final chance to safely sate her curiosity; she'd be a fool not to take it.

"…Bring it here."

She could practically feel Dennis' eyes on the back of her head. "I beg your pardon…?"

She turned slowly back to face him, her expression unreadable. "Vaas' body. I want it brought here, as soon as possible."

Dennis' eyes went wide with shock behind his glasses. "_Here_? To the _TEMPLE_? But Citra-"

Her eyes flashed blue fire. "Surely you are not refusing a direct order, Dennis? You heard me well. I want Vaas' body brought here, to the temple, to this _very spot_, as soon. As. Possible."

When Dennis still couldn't find the words to say, she allowed her attention to drift back over to one of the wall murals, depicting their mighty warrior ancestor battling the fearsome giant that dwelled within the lotus pond, and watched the firelight play across it.

"…It has been many years since I last had the… _pleasure_ of my brother's company." she said, the slightest hint of bitterness edging her voice. "I should like to see him again… one last time." Her gaze flickered back to him. "We can decide what to do with his remains afterwards."

Dennis swallowed and nodded, though she could tell he still looked somewhat doubtful. "I will… round up some warriors and head back to the compound immediately. We should have it back here in a few hours."

She smiled. "Good. You are dismissed."

Dennis dipped his head to her respectfully, and turned to leave.

"…One more thing."

Dennis stopped short, straightening up. He was listening.

"See to it that his body is treated with respect. Handle it with care, and take nothing from it. If anybody disobeys or even so much as complains about this task, there _will_ be consequences. Understood?"

It took Dennis longer than she would've liked to respond. "…As you wish, Citra."

She inclined her head. "Good. Carry on, then."

Dennis nodded and exited the temple into the courtyard, just brightening with mid-morning sunlight, leaving Citra standing alone in the little stone room with nothing but a conflicting brood of thoughts and emotions for company.

* * *

It was nearing sundown by the time the small group of four warriors, trailed by Dennis, made their way up the rock steps towards the temple's courtyard, shaded by the boughs of the massive tree at its center. Between them they supported a makeshift tarp sling, in which Vaas' still form rested. Upon seeing it as they passed by, the guards stationed to either side of the steps would react as though it were a venomous snake; they'd pull away with expressions of shock and revulsion, whisper to each other, glare at the tarp with menace and scorn. Citra could see it all from where she stood at the base of the tree. Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing about it. Their reactions were to be expected; none of them had been told about this, and even after his death hatred for Vaas was still deeply ingrained into their hearts and minds. She could hardly blame them.

"This way…" she called to the approaching warriors. She turned and headed off to her left, in the direction of the mural room from before, and they dutifully followed. Glancing over her shoulder, she could tell in the stiff ways they moved, in their deliberately stoic expressions, that they weren't happy about having to carry the corpse of their sworn enemy, but they knew better than to say anything about it. She smirked slightly; they'd been trained well.

She led them into the stone chamber, still illuminated by the torches, and turned to face them at its center, where they stood expectantly, still supporting the tarp.

"You may put it down now." she said. "_Gently_. Then you can all leave."

The four warriors slowly lowered the tarp to the ground, not even so much as glancing at the body within it before bowing their heads respectfully to her and exiting. Dennis still remained at the room's entrance, seemingly unsure of what to do, or say.

She stared back at him impassively. "That means you too, Dennis. Leave me, and ensure that I am not disturbed. I'll be fine."

As before, Dennis took just a little too long to respond. "…Yes, Citra." He turned and left, leaving her alone at last with her dead brother.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she slowly approached his side. Looking down at him, she was filled with a bizarre sense of incredulity. She'd always expected this day to eventually come, but now that it actually _had_… she had no idea _what_ to feel.

The first thing she noticed was the glint of the firelight on a small green gem shard, dangling from a leather necklace he was still wearing. Her eyebrows rose, in spite of herself. She'd… she'd given him that necklace when they were _kids_. She was amazed that even after everything they'd been through years ago, he still wore it.

She knelt beside the body, finally allowing herself to take it in from head to toe. Something inside of her churned a bit, touching ever so slightly upon old feelings she wasn't sure she even wanted to consider. This was literally the first time she'd seen her brother for herself in years. He'd been described a bit to her before, sure, and she'd seen a couple of grainy photographs here and there, but actually seeing him firsthand after so long was something entirely different. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but… it wasn't _this_.

The sole sources of illumination in the room may have been coming from the torches, but even then she could tell there was an unhealthy, dull pallor to her brother's tan skin that didn't just come with death. The cause of that was obvious enough – a large, dried bloodstain covered the chest area of his faded red tank top, at the center of which was a series of slits in the fabric the precise width of a knife's blade. His hair was different, too; the last time she'd seen him, it'd been the same untidy mop of black hair she'd always known him to have. Now, it was shaven into a short, crude mohawk. The briefest of smiles flickered on her lips at the sight of his chin. He still had that silly goatee of his. She could still remember constantly teasing him about it when he started growing it in…

The amusement was short-lived, however, as her eyes traveled back up his face. His eyes were closed, expression calmer than she could recall ever having seen it, but the bags underneath them were wide, dark, like terrible bruises. They hadn't been that bad before. Was it the drugs, or did the man simply refuse to sleep, prowling restlessly around his compound at night like a deadly caged animal?

Her face began to darken into a frown as she reached out, ran a finger along the deep, gruesome scar that stretched from the middle of his left eyebrow all the way across the side of his head. He hadn't had that the last time she'd seen him, either. What had happened there? She shuddered to think of what could've caused such a ghastly wound, how painful it must've been for him, the amount of blood it would've shed…

Her expression only darkened further, heart sinking ever more as she began to examine the rest of Vaas' body, as well, his arms, his chest. He was muscled enough, lean and wiry from years of certain physical activity, but it all seemed so… so _wrong_ somehow. Like the muscle wasn't so much a part of him as it was just haphazardly piled onto his thin frame. Had he always been this skinny? No, she was almost certain that he hadn't. He'd… looked healthy the last time they'd spoken. Strong. Before he'd started dipping so heavily into the narcotics…

She gingerly lifted his left arm, running her fingers along his skin, along all of the ugly little scars, the network of bruiselike track marks that wove a sad tapestry of prolonged drug abuse. She forced herself to suppress a shiver of discomfort at the coldness of his skin. Her hand reached his, brushing against the worn gauze wrapped around his knuckles and fingers, and she paused; did she really want to see what was under these bandages? Probably not, but… she couldn't stop herself from loosening them anyway, peeling them back to expose the paler, sun-deprived skin hidden underneath.

Her stomach twisted at the sight – most of the skin on his knuckles had been worn away, picked off in what she assumed had become a terrible addictive habit for him. They looked raw and sore, still a tad bloody, having doubtfully ever been allowed to scab over before he started tearing at them again…

She folded his stiff fingers into a fist, bringing it to rest against her forehead. A weary sigh passed between her clenched teeth, and she closed her eyes, unable to look at him any longer.

_Vaas… my brother… what have you been doing to yourself?_

Seeing him again… in such a pitiful state, clearly so much unhealthier than the last time they'd been together prior to his death, was clawing at something in the pit of Citra's soul that she didn't _want_ to feel, knew he didn't deserve but she just couldn't snuff out of existence. It was prying open a wealth of memories from days long past that she'd managed to suppress, and the more she tried to push them away, the more they began to slip through the cracks…

She was sure that she'd be met with utter disbelief if she were to tell somebody that there'd been a time when she and Vaas had been nigh on inseparable. When they'd spent nearly every waking moment with each other, from the time they were very small up until they were teenagers. When Vaas would go well out of his way to make her smile, would've given his _life_ for her without a second thought.

When he protected her.

_She was six years old, and she was terrified._

_It was very dark, very late, well past her bedtime and yet, here she was, crouched inside a small hiding place formed of several twisted, upraised roots winding from the base of a massive tree a good distance into the jungle behind the shack they lived in. She hadn't been out here that long, but still she trembled, her arms clamped tightly around a tattered teddy bear for some semblance of comfort. At the very least, she knew this place; this was their special "meet-up spot", where they would hide out however long they needed to until it was safe to venture back to the home they could hardly stand. Tonight hadn't been much different from most – they'd been kept awake by the sounds of their drug-addled parents shrieking obscenities at each other, sometimes catching their names in the mix… only this time their dad had suddenly burst into their bedroom, yelling that they had to get up, that they were leaving, and when they hadn't listened, he'd rounded on them like an angry bear. Vaas had fearlessly placed himself in between his tiny sister and their father, telling her to run, hide. She'd known what he meant, and now she was here… waiting. She felt sick and nervous as she sat there, slapping at the mosquitoes that were trying to settle on her arms and legs. The jungle rustled around her, so big and scary at night, alive with the calls of hungry animals in the distance. She wanted Vaas. She always felt safe with him…_

_A crunching sound through the leaf litter, growing steadily louder as it approached made her freeze - footsteps. Her breath quickened, and she grasped her teddy bear tighter. What if it was their mom, their dad? What if they'd found her and were going to take her back to be punished?_

_The footsteps stopped, and it was quiet. "…Hermana…"_

_Instantaneously, she relaxed. It was only her brother. She'd be okay now._

_Vaas shuffled around the side of the hiding spot, kneeling in front of her. He offered her a weak smile. "It's okay now, hermana. You know they can't find us here…"_

_Citra stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. The smile was certainly forced, framed by a bruised and bleeding lip that not even the darkness could hide. His left eye, swollen shut. Discipline of the gentle variety had never meant much to their father._

_She reached out and wiped some of the blood from his lip with one small finger before she finally just fell against him, wrapping her arms around his middle in a tight hug. She whimpered into his dirty t-shirt, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Vaas hugged her back, resting his cheek against the top of her head. After a minute of silence, she could hear him start to sniffle, feel the slight tremble of his quiet sobs. _

_They remained locked in that sibling embrace for what could've been minutes or maybe even hours, the black jungle whispering all around them._

Citra bit her lip, grateful that there was nobody around to see the wave of pain that had rolled across her face at the unpleasant memory. It wasn't the only one of that nature she had. It'd been so long since she'd revisited that part of her life that it felt like it was nothing more than a bad dream from bygone days – a bad dream that her brother had dutifully guarded her from.

Though… their childhood hadn't been _entirely_ miserable. No, the good times actually far outweighed the bad. Vaas had made sure of that. She closed her eyes, allowing her mind to guide her back to a happier time, a happier place, to the times when it'd just been the two of them, playing as any other children would. They were always together, as close as two siblings could be, constantly off exploring their island home to avoid coming home to their unpredictable parents and "Rakyat training" that they didn't really understand. From the time Citra could walk, Vaas had been not only her older brother, but more of a guardian to her than either their mother _or_ father. Their formal education had been… minimal, really, but Vaas had been more than eager to teach her about the plants and animals native to the island, how to read, how to write, how to swim and climb trees and catch frogs. How to weave flowers together to make the crowns that he liked to give her as gifts. Whatever he learned, he was quick to pass along to her, too.

She couldn't hold back a sad smile when she recalled their favorite hideaway, the place they'd spent countless hours in growing up. It was a beautiful little spot to the east of Churchtown that they'd discovered completely by accident, well hidden behind the leafy jungle undergrowth. A cave, leading to a very large lagoon complete with its own rope bridge (half-decomposed and clearly abandoned though it was) and a waterfall that thundered down from a little maze of damp caverns just big enough for them to play in comfortably. Her heart warmed to think of it again; she could still see it perfectly in her mind's eye, pristine as a picture. Could almost feel the spray from the waterfall that had made the rocks so slippery she'd slipped and fallen more than once, with Vaas never more than a step or two away to help her back up. Could almost hear the echo of its watery roar as they played hide-and-seek in the caverns, or just sat there to hide from the rest of the world and talk about everything and nothing all at once. That lagoon was their own little piece of paradise, nobody else's, where they came to forget about everything bad and hurtful in their lives for a while and could feel happy, safe. She wondered briefly if any of the little toys and trinkets they'd brought there were still around, long deteriorated by moisture damage…

There was a spot above that lagoon that she remembered particularly well, on a small, grassy cliff they could get to by following the caverns straight through to the back and up the steep incline to the top. From there, they could see for miles around the island and right out to sea, the other, smaller islands green patches in an endless expanse of blue. She remembered the two of them sitting up there often, and she remembered them planning out which of those smaller islands they'd explore next. And when it got dark, they'd lay there in the grass, always him on the right and her on the left, and they'd watch the stars. There were so many of them, and it was so beautiful. Sometimes they'd fall asleep and end up staying the night there, but that was okay – it was easier to rest peacefully there since their parents never came looking for them. Or even noticed that their two children never came home some nights at all.

But more than anything else, she remembered her brother's fierce spirit, his goofy gap-toothed grin, his green eyes shining with determination as they stood there on that cliff, looking out over the island, and what he'd always promise her:

"_We're gonna get off this island someday, Citra." he whispered. "Just you and me. No more hiding from mama and papa, no more dumb Rakyat stuff. We'll get outta here, we'll go to America. We'll live like the fancy actors in my movies do. Nice clothes and everything! You'll see, promise."_

But that had never happened.

Her smile evaporated, and she found herself gripping his cold, stiff hand even tighter when she began to recall where everything slowly, but surely, began to fall apart... the pieces they'd worked so hard to put together throughout their tumultuous childhood one by one popping out of place as they eased into their teen years. Their Rakyat "responsibilities" had become harder to avoid, and what time they'd spent playing and exploring as children had then become mostly spent hunting and warrior-training. It'd been especially tough on Vaas – from an early age, they'd seen the fire in him, the intelligence and natural talent for leadership, and he was to be the leader that would finally bring them peace and prosperity… but Vaas had never been interested.

She remembered it well. Her older brother had always been a dreamer, always had his head in the clouds. His heart had never been on this island – it'd always been off on the mainland, off in America, in Hollywood, among the glitz and the glamour and the A-list actors and actresses. That had been his passion, his dream since he was very young, and very few other than herself had known it; he wanted to act, he wanted to be _famous_. Whenever he could he'd shirk his Rakyat training to hole up at home, watching and analyzing movies back-to-back all day on his crappy little TV if he could get away with it. And whatever money he earned doing odd jobs around the island, she knew he'd carefully hide away, saving up to get out of here someday, and that he fully intended to take her with him, too. Vaas had always made good on his promises, no matter how long ago he made them, after all.

But… she'd been the exact opposite. Despite Vaas' frequent warnings against it, she steadily became more and more immersed in their Rakyat heritage, their culture. She'd been entranced, enraptured, fascinated by the rich lore and legend that she could better understand now that she'd grown older. It'd made her feel powerful, important… part of something _bigger_ than herself. But Vaas… he just sneered at it all. He goaded his own tribe, called them all fools for chasing superstitions and silly children's tales, trapped in the past, nothing but a ball and chain to him.

A dull ember of anger burned in her belly for a moment, and she lowered his hand back to the floor. It'd hurt, hurt them _all_. Vaas had been their greatest hope, a gifted warrior, but it'd been painfully clear for years – he'd modernized himself, and cared more about finding a way _off_ this island than leading his people… and that's when they'd been forced to turn to the next best and most promising thing: _herself_. And that had frightened her brother. A rift had been growing between them since they entered their teen years and their differences had begun to drag them apart. The closeness of their childhood days had drifted away, and Vaas' desperation to cling to that had begun to take its toll on him. He'd always been emotional, expressive, very prone to crying, but as he grew older it'd begun to manifest itself instead as bouts of rage and shouting. She even had her suspicions that he'd started turning to drugs now and then to combat his stress, just like the parents they'd avoided for so long; that had hurt her even more. Despite everything happening around them, she'd _loved_ her brother. She really had. And he loved her. As mulish as he could often be, his sense of sibling loyalty and devotion to her had never wavered, never _could_. He was her guardian, her big brother, no matter what.

In fact, the first time Vaas had ever _killed_ someone had been for her. Like so many times before, he'd been protecting her… but it'd gone too far.

"_Vaas! VAAS! STOP! GET OFF OF HIM!"_

_Citra grabbed at her seventeen-year-old brother's shoulders, pulling him backwards, trying to force him off the man pinned unmoving underneath him. Her sudden touch seemed to get through to him, albeit only slightly, surprising him just enough to allow her to pull him away, almost having to drag him across the worn wooden floorboards of their home._

_Vaas rocketed to his feet and whirled around to face her, breathing like he'd just run up a mountain. His adrenaline was clearly still pumping, green eyes wild, teeth clenched and stained red from a bloody nose oozing into his mouth. He towered over her, lean and muscular, the very image of a fearsome warrior, and she couldn't help but be almost scared to speak for fear he might lash out at her – but she grasped his forearms tightly, keeping him in his place, and returned his harsh gaze unblinkingly._

"_Vaas, what did you _do_?" she whispered, her voice choked with suppressed tears. She glanced helplessly past him at the body sprawled motionless on the floor just a few feet away from them; the body of their drunken father, eyes open, glassy, staring at nothing, ten bruises the precise sizes and shapes of fingerprints ugly and accusing against the ruddy skin of his neck. "You killed him! He's DEAD!"_

_Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears… or Vaas simply didn't care. "…He hit you, Citra." he whispered. He reached up and lightly touched the dark bruise beginning to blossom across her left cheek. "He would've done worse if I hadn't stopped him-"_

_She pulled away from him angrily. "But you did not have to _kill_ him!" she shouted. The tears had started spilling from her blue eyes now, but she scarcely noticed. "He was our _father_, Vaas! I could have talked sense into him, calmed him down if you had just given me a _chance_-"_

"_Our FATHER?" Vaas shouted back. He jabbed an accusatory finger at the corpse on the floor. "That man was NEVER a father to us, Citra! He was a _monster_, even worse than our dearly-departed mother." His face twisted into a sneer. "Believe me, hermana, I just did the whole fuckin' island a favor."_

"_He was the only family we had left!" she retorted. She was dangerously close to breaking down at this point. "Yes, he was a monster but he was all we had! Now we have NOTHING! We are ALONE now! Does that not mean anything to you?"_

_Vaas just stared at her silently for a few moments before finally snorting and shaking his head. "Perhaps you've forgotten, hermana…" he replied, calmly wiping his bloody nose on the back of his hand, "we've been alone our whole fuckin' _lives_."_

_Citra cried out in frustration – and whether it was from the shocking nonchalance in his voice, or the undeniable, soul-crushing truth to his words, she couldn't be sure. She turned and dashed through the open door of their home, ignoring the bright sunlight stinging at her eyes, desperate to get away from that awful scene, to a safe and comforting place… like the Rakyat temple._

"_CITRA-!" Vaas called after her, but she ignored him and continued running, not even once looking back to see him standing there alone in their shaded house, alone with what he'd done. Where she was going now, she knew he wouldn't try to pursue her._

She stood suddenly, marching a few feet away from his corpse. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, expression stony with silent anger. The memory had stung her in the heart all over again. In retrospect, at the time perhaps she'd reacted so strongly out of fear that Vaas would get into trouble for his crime and be taken away from her, leaving her _truly_ alone, but that had never actually happened; their parents at one time _had_ been important to the Rakyat, but their ever-increasing dependence on drugs and alcohol had made them unpopular long before that incident… nobody asked any questions. But that did little to make her feel any better about it. It'd been just another wedge driven in between them, isolating them from each other even further. Vaas was a great warrior, with so much potential, but he'd started down a long, winding path into darkness, and even when she extended a hand to guide him back to the light, back to his tribe, back to _her_, he turned away.

Her gaze traveled along the stone wall, across the ancient temple's murals, looking anywhere but at her brother's still body. By that time the Rakyat had all but given up on the idea of appointing Vaas as their leader, and had instead turned to _her_, praising _her_ as their new greatest hope against the encroaching pirates, their up-and-coming warrior queen. The concept had flattered her, excited her; she'd devoted herself wholeheartedly to her tribe, her heritage, and it'd be an honor to lead them, to serve them as best she could. But… she still worried deeply for her older brother, the rightful leader. She'd wanted so badly for him to feel the same senses of belonging and purpose she felt, to keep him from trying to run away from his responsibilities on the island to chase some silly dream, but it'd done her no good; he wouldn't hear any of it, not a word. And once Vaas had set his mind to something, there'd been no changing it for anything.

She finally glanced back over her shoulder, to where he lay on the chamber's floor. Seven years. It'd been seven years exactly since their last interaction – the one that had shattered their relationship like glass and caused Vaas to abandon the Rakyat for good. Seven years since she'd last heard his voice, felt his touch… since she'd…

"_Ci… tra…? Citra? CITRA! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? GET THE HELL OFF ME!"_

_Citra gasped aloud in surprise when the rough hands shoved her backwards onto the stone dais, stunning her into immobility for several seconds. Before her, Vaas was scrambling upright and as far away from her as the dais would allow. His breathing came in ragged gasps, eyes wild with horror at what had just occurred – he'd… he'd blacked out, for how long exactly, he was unsure, but he'd returned to his senses to find his little sister on top of him, bare-chested, straddling his waist, and fumbling with the zipper on his pants._

_Citra could only stare at him with widened eyes. It was the first time he'd ever laid his hands on her in all his twenty years of existence._

_He hugged himself, a distressed, panicky whine tearing itself from his chest. "CITRA! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT WERE YOU DOING? W-WHAT… WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?"_

_He tried to take a few steps further away, but only stumbled like a drunkard. The drug she'd slipped into the flask of water she'd given him right before their "talk" still clouded his mind and motor skills, but just barely. Her brows furrowed. Perhaps she'd misjudged the amount she'd need to keep him sufficiently relaxed long enough for this. A mistake on her part._

"…_Be calm, Vaas." she said in an alarmingly serene tone. A smirk played across her lips. "It is only destiny, after all. You should be proud. You have been _chosen_, Vaas. _We_ have been chosen. Chosen to create something beautiful, for the good of our tribe!"_

_Vaas swayed unsteadily back and forth, his green eyes glaring directly into her own in a way that reminded her unsettlingly of a wild beast. "What the fuck are you talking about…?"_

_Citra gestured to the environment around them; the small fires that flickered around the perimeter of the dais and lined the steps leading up to the temple behind them, and the Rakyat warriors that observed the two from the shadows. The trees that rustled softly in the evening breeze, the fading sunset that bathed everything in rich shades of purple and orange. "…There is more to the ancient legend than you know, my brother." she said quietly. "Have you never heard the _full_ ending of the tale of our great warrior ancestor, or were you too busy with your _movies_ to pay any attention to such SILLY CHILDREN'S TALES?"_

_That last part came out cold, angry. Even from here she could see the way her brother stiffened with silent fury at her criticism. She was starting to strike at something personal now, and he knew it._

_She stepped towards him, quick to regain her composure. "…Our ancestor mated with a warrior queen to produce the Rakyat people." she continued. "Can you not see it, brother? _You_ are that warrior, and I am that warrior queen." She smiled in feral excitement. "Together, we will create the perfect warrior, the child that in time will grow to lead the Rakyat into a new age of prosperity!"_

_Vaas gaped at her, too horrified at what he was hearing to form a coherent response. "You're… you're fuckin' INSANE! Citra, you're my _sister_, I…" He clutched at his hair, struggling, and failing, to remain calm. "I could _never_… I'm supposed to PROTECT you, Citra! That's SICK!"_

"_We are not _children_ anymore, Vaas!" she retorted. "I am a warrior. I am a _goddess_. I no longer need your protection." Her expression grew more sorrowful, confused. "Why do you refuse such an honor? Why have you disregarded the incredible prowess you have had since you were young? You are an amazing warrior, Vaas, a prodigy, the envy of the entire tribe… and yet, you would rather throw all of that away to follow some foolish illusion of grandeur off in America. Disgraceful."_

"_GODDESS? You're only EIGHTEEN, Citra!" Vaas shouted at her. His voice cracked with pain, with the hurt of betrayal. This… this wasn't Citra. This wasn't his sweet, supportive baby sister, his favorite person in the whole world, the girl he'd defended his entire _life_. Not anymore. "It… it's _these_ fuckers, isn't it?" He pointed a shaking finger at the Rakyat still watching from just outside the circle of light cast by the fires. "_They_'_re_ the ones putting these crazy ideas in your head! They're brainwashing you, Citra! POISONING YOU! Feeding you this… this STREAM OF FAIRY TALE BULLSHIT!"_

_A ripple of angry murmuring spread throughout the surrounding Rakyat at his accusations. Citra scowled at him, trembling ever so slightly with the anger she struggled to keep bridled. "…You would say such callous things about your own _tribe_? Your _birthright_?" she hissed. "You cannot run from your responsibilities anymore, Vaas. You will see. You will follow the warrior's path to glory. You will finally bear the tatau. You will _fight_. For you, my brother, are the greatest of the Rakyat, whether you believe it or not." Her eyes sparked. "And together, we will create that which will bring them salvation."_

_Vaas shook his head, mumbling in disbelief. "No… no... you're sick. You're all fuckin' _sick_. I'm not doing this... no…"_

_Two nearby Rakyat warriors approached Vaas from behind, their faces dark with disapproval at Vaas' blatant disrespect towards their great warrior queen. They moved to grab his forearms – if he wouldn't serve his ultimate purpose by choice, perhaps they'd just have to force him instead._

_The second their fingers came into contact with his skin, Vaas lurched forward, surprising the larger men with the raw strength in the motion, enough to break him free. _

"DON'T TOUCH ME_!" he shrieked. He turned and started running back towards the temple, the renewed burst of adrenaline propelling him clumsily up the winding stone steps despite the drug his sister slipped him still muddying his brain. A few Rakyat stepped forward quickly to give chase, only to stop when Citra gave a sudden shout._

"No_!" she yelled. "Leave him. He will be back. He knows his destiny." She crossed her arms over her bare chest, scowling at her brother's retreating back as he disappeared into the night. "…He has nowhere else to go, after all."_

He never came back.

Citra's face grew troubled. She turned and stared back at Vaas' body, arms loosening slightly, quietly digesting an uncertainty that felt so unlike her usual self. That night had been the last time she'd ever spoken to her dear elder brother. When days had passed without word from or sight of him, they'd sent out search parties, unsure whether he hitched a ride on a boat and left the islands for good, was alive and in hiding, or was simply dead in the jungle somewhere, being chewed apart by maggots. Though she'd put on a brave face for her warriors, the lack of knowledge of her brother's whereabouts had kept her awake at night with stress… that is, until three weeks after his disappearance a patrol had returned to her to report Vaas had been sighted, alive and well… but dressed in red and sitting in the back of a matching vehicle with a large white eye painted on the hood. The mark of the pirates. Vaas had betrayed them, and joined up with their greatest foes.

Her eyes narrowed, became angrier. It'd been that vulture Hoyt Volker, she was certain of it. He must've found Vaas at his most vulnerable, lured him in, perhaps with promises of power, wealth, even drugs. A life the Rakyat could never offer him. And he'd taken the bait, the fool. Of course, it hadn't taken long for Vaas' amazing warrior prowess to shine through, but in ways more dubious than they'd ever wanted; his intelligence and ruthless strength seemed to boost him up through the pirates' rankings at an alarming pace, until before too long he sat on the figurative throne as "pirate lord" himself, ultimately pitting the opposing forces of brother and sister against each other in a brutal and bloody human chess match.

Citra almost snarled aloud. Perhaps that's what Hoyt had wanted all along. Just another way for him to spit in her face – by molding that most dear to her into her worst enemy.

She kicked a loose pebble across the stone floor in her frustration. It rolled and skipped until it finally came to a rest beside Vaas' cold left hand. She followed it until she stood over him once again, sighing at the pathetic sight. Hoyt had stolen her brother from her, transformed him into the Devil himself, turned him against his own people. Used him, abused him, and finally handed him back to her full-circle as the battered, washed-out, bloodstained ghost of a man that lay crumpled at her feet without even so much as a chance for last words. Her brother was gone because of _him_.

_Are you sure about that?_

She looked up, startled by the strange comment. She cast a glance around the chamber, searching for its source, some presence hiding in the shadowed corners before she suddenly realized it was a voice not belonging to somebody else, but one that had come from somewhere deep inside herself… from some dark, dusty corner of her mind that had remained silent for far too long.

Her expression hardened, became guarded. _Of course I am sure... _she reassured herself. _Hoyt is the one responsible for this mess. _He_ is the one that turned my brother into a monster. If it were not for him, Vaas might still be alive. He would have come back to me._

_But it was not Hoyt that made him run away in the first place._

Citra bit her lip, began to pace, though for some reason she wouldn't stray too far from the corpse's side. She didn't like this, this… little foreign voice of hers that was already planting the smallest seeds of doubt in her heart, in her brain. Over all these years, she'd forced it into dormancy, convinced that she was completely in the right; now that she'd made herself prone, unguarded, she felt as though she were being stalked by an invisible panther.

_Vaas was a fool. _she thought mutinously. _He could have had honor, glory, power. He had a destiny laid out before him that Rakyat men twice his age would have thrown down their lives to have a chance at in an instant. But instead he chose to turn his back on his own tribe, his heritage, his _family_, leave us to die at the hands of his pirates… and for what? Drugs? To be Hoyt's lapdog?_

_But what drove him to that, Citra? What _really_ caused him to flee that night, never to return?_

She stopped short. Her arms fell to her sides, her hands balling themselves into fists. The seeds of doubt were growing ever larger now, taking root. Sprouting, _festering_. She smothered them quickly; warrior goddesses did not feel doubt.

_It was his own fault. I offered him everything he could ever _want_…_

_You drove him away._

She inhaled sharply, tasting the smoke in the air – there it was. The raw, ugly doubt, in full bloom.

Citra shook her head, grappling with this nagging voice that came from where within herself, she wasn't sure. _No. No, I _blessed_ him. We were to create the perfect warrior, the future leader of our people. It would have been glorious. If only I could have made him _see_ that-_

_Made him perform a sinful act of incest upon his younger sister? The girl he had protected with his very life from the day she started _walking_?_

She reached up, wiped away the cold sweat that had begun to bead on her forehead. Though crackling torches lined the walls all around her, she felt as though she'd been submerged in the chilled waters of the sea that surrounded the islands on all sides. _I…_

_It was _you_, Citra. Not Hoyt. Not anybody. Just you. _You_ betrayed your older brother. Your best friend. Your lifelong _guardian_. An already troubled man. Betrayed him, terrified him, hurt him so deeply inside he had no choice but to get as far away from you as possible so he would not do something he would regret. But where was the only other place he could go? Straight into the palm of Hoyt Volker's hand._

These words that _were_ and yet were _not_ her own may as well have been a physical slap to her face. She tried to hold her head up high, continuously telling herself despite this barrage of guilty realizations that she'd only ever done what was right, what was best for her tribe… but her usual pride and self-confidence had been stripped from her. She'd never felt so small. So _wrong_.

_...I did not need him…_ her lips twitched, almost mouthing the pitiful defensive words.

_If it were not for him, you would never have made it this far._ the little voice retorted. _You would have been dead before you saw your seventh birthday. Was he not the _original_ choice to lead the Rakyat? And how did you repay his life of kindness towards you? With arrogance, callousness, and betrayal so great you broke him, chased him away. Chased him right down the winding path into madness… and now he's dead. Gone forever, and you can _never_ take that back now, can you?_

She stared down at Vaas' gray, broken body, still shaking her head, a dam of anguish she hadn't known she'd buried so deep inside her soul threatening to burst and overwhelm her, sweep her away in its tide. She wanted to fight it with all her pride, her composure, the strength of her mind and body that had brought her to the top and made hundreds of noble warriors bend to her every whim… but what good were noble warriors against an enemy that came from _within_?

Citra fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands. It was no use. That accusatory voice of doubt was right, and it'd taken the sight of her sibling's bloody husk of a body to finally make her realize that. Vaas never would've come back to her. What she'd done to him had snapped his fragile psyche like a twig, and now… now she couldn't even apologize for it.

Vaas had died with rage and pain flowing through his veins like snake venom – rage and pain towards _her_ – and she could never make amends. She'd cast away the only one who'd truly loved and sheltered her as they'd grown, even when she'd begun to push him away for no good reason. And it'd been her own hand that had pointed his killer in his direction.

Her brother had lost his mind, lost his _life_, and she had no one to blame but herself.

"…Vaas…" she suddenly uttered aloud, her voice strangely hoarse. She crawled around him until she was beside his head and, as she knelt there, gingerly lifted it into her lap. She stroked his forehead, cold and stiff as stone, ran her fingers through his ragged mohawk. For just a few brief moments, she was a child again – a scared little girl crouching alone in the dark jungle. A scared little girl missing her big brother.

"Vaas, I… I'm sorry…" she whispered. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

A drop of moisture appeared on his cheek. She stared at it, confused, before she noticed the trickling sensation crawling down her cheeks like ants. Tears. She sniffled indignantly, reaching up to swipe them away with the back of her hand. No. No crying. Warrior goddesses did not cry.

…Did they?

A soft, broken sob rose from inside her chest. This time, she didn't attempt to stifle it. She leaned over her dead brother, rested her forehead against his, and allowed the tears to flow freely. It was all she could do to keep the sobs that shook her body quiet enough that the guards stationed at the temple's entrance wouldn't hear her. The fire-lit murals painted across the rock walls watched her with unblinking eyes, the sole observers of her silent anguish. She wept not for the insane, vicious tyrant who'd slaughtered so many of her greatest warriors, so many innocent human beings, and enslaved countless more. Not for the murderous psychopath that had years ago lost himself in the tumult of his own madness. She wept for the little boy with the goofy gap-toothed smile and sparkling green eyes full of dreams. For the wayward young man that despite the rift that had opened and grown between the two of them had continued to care for and defend her with his entire being. She wept for her lost older brother, swallowed whole by the monster that was these islands. Her biggest, most unforgivable mistake.

"Vaas… my brother… I'm sorry… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

But this time there came no whispered words of comfort, no strong, warm arms to offer her a consoling hug shared between siblings who'd grown up in Hell together and emerged from its thick jungles stronger and closer for it. That had ended long ago. He simply laid there, face as calm as if he were only sleeping, her tears dotting his face like drops of rain. All that was left of a once kind soul that had been shattered beyond repair.

Her murmured apologies, a sorrowful chant of a decade's worth of suppressed guilt and regrets seemed to permeate every corner of the ancient stone chamber, but it didn't matter; the one they were meant for would never hear them. Not where he'd gone.


	2. Reconciliation

The mounted torches had long since burned themselves down to cinders, the first rays of dawn beginning to color the horizon a vivid pink when Citra marched out into the temple's courtyard and immediately demanded a surprised group of warriors to begin constructing a coffin large enough to contain the body of a grown man. For a few moments, judging by the fleetingly appalled looks on their faces, she thought they might actually dare to object, but instead they lowered their heads respectfully and immediately scampered away to amass materials, her hawklike gaze following them until they were out of sight. Dennis, who'd been hovering nervously nearby since she'd emerged from the chamber, approached her, opening his mouth to say something, but the challenging way in which she whirled around to face him, her eyes noticeably puffy and red even in the poor early-morning light, made him think better of it. Instead, he only remained where he stood, watching with concern as the band of dispatched warriors returned with all the spare plywood and other assorted building items they could scavenge, and set to work right there at the top of the stone steps putting together the coffin their beloved queen had asked for. Citra, meanwhile, had walked away and seated herself cross-legged atop one of the thick roots of the ancient tree just behind them, observing closely to ensure they wouldn't deliberately put a poor effort into the project. As she watched, she plucked wildflowers from the grassy spaces in between the tree roots, her hands seeming to follow an achingly familiar pattern of movement that scarcely required the attention of her eyes.

A couple of hours later found the sun still climbing in the sky, shedding dappled light onto the warrior's handiwork – a wooden coffin reinforced with sheet metal, complete with a lid and crude handles attached to the sides so it could be carried more easily. Some might call it shabby, perhaps, but it pleased her nevertheless; it would serve its purpose well enough. She then instructed the warriors to enter the chamber and collect the tarp holding Vaas' body as they did before. They exchanged brief glances before turning and doing as they were told, albeit with more reluctance than she would've liked.

When they were far enough from earshot, Dennis cautiously approached Citra. Watching the warriors perform the task she'd given them, she didn't seem to notice him until he was right beside her.

It took him a minute to work up enough courage to say anything. "Citra… why are you doing this? This man, he… he _murdered_ your people. Sold them like animals. He was the enemy…"

Citra turned to him. Her fierce stare, tearful though it was, was still plenty effective at making him feel small and weak.

"…He was my brother." she finally responded, her tone unreadable. "And he… was not always that way."

Dennis opened his mouth, a flood of questions pouring into his brain, but he closed it again to stop them. Now was obviously not the time. The warriors were exiting the temple now, the tarp sling containing her brother's corpse suspended between them as it was yesterday. They marched it over to the coffin, still doing everything within their power to not have to look directly at the body.

"Lay him down inside. _Slowly_…" she said to them. They did so, placing Vaas within the coffin. She tried not to think about how perfectly he fit inside it.

Citra stood over it, this tomb of wood and metal, and stared down at her dear older brother for what would be the final time. In her hands, she held the product of her earlier work – a flower crown, just like the ones he used to make for her when they were small, the stems tightly woven together in a circlet that'd never come loose. She bent down and gently placed it upon his head. The bright colors of the tropical flowers seemed to contrast sharply with the grayness of his skin.

She crossed his stiffened arms over his stomach, then left him with a kiss upon his forehead. "Farewell, my brother…" she whispered, so softly she knew he'd be the only one to hear it. Wherever he was. "I'm sorry."

She wrapped the rest of the tarp around him, obscuring him from view, then turned away. The ripple of unease that went through her warriors was palpable.

"Seal it." she demanded, breaking the awkward silence. "Then find a shovel. And a vehicle large enough to hold all of us. We will be leaving shortly."

The warriors looked shocked, turning to each other in utter confusion. Citra rarely ever left the temple. What was she up to?

Citra scowled, annoyed at the lack of immediate action. "Yes, you heard me right." she said, raising her voice. "Go! Now! Do as I say. We are not done here yet."

At the irritation in her tone they scattered like cockroaches to complete her tasks. Dennis was appalled. This seemed… so _unlike_ the great warrior queen he knew and loved. "Citra, you are leaving the temple? Where are you going? It is far too dangerous out there to-"

"_We_ are leaving the temple, Dennis." she interrupted. She turned and gazed down the dark hallway leading out of the temple's courtyard and into the wild, unforgiving jungle beyond. "Double up the patrols and station extra guards. We are going to Churchtown. I'll direct you exactly where to go from there."

Before he had the chance to question her further, she began striding confidently towards the exit. "That is an order."

* * *

An hour later found them all seated in a well-worn cargo truck and, with the lack of traffic, more than halfway across the island to Churchtown. Dennis was at the wheel, gripping it tightly enough to pale his knuckles, and Citra beside him in the passenger seat. Her arms and legs had been crossed firmly in front of her since they'd left the temple, expression tense as she stared straight ahead through the grimy windshield. Behind them in the canvas-shielded back of the truck sat the same faithful group of warriors with Vaas' coffin. They murmured uneasily amongst themselves, barely audible over the rumble of the engine. Several had scooted as far away from the coffin as the confined space would allow; though of course they knew he was dead, it was difficult to shake the borderline superstitious fear that Vaas was so evil Death itself didn't want him, and he'd very well claw his way out.

They all maintained a steady grip on their weapons, keeping a watchful eye out for any pirates – it wasn't uncommon for them to attempt to chase down or ambush Rakyat vehicles whenever they saw them. But they hadn't seen a single one the entire drive, hadn't heard any drunken shouts of obscenities from afar. The recent death of their leader had surely dissolved their system into chaos, and there was no telling where they might be or what they could be doing next. Either way, they didn't relax their guard for even a second. Not when their own leader was with them.

Another bumpy half-hour later they glimpsed the rusted top of the old water tower above the trees surrounding the town, and in minutes were passing the first few small, broken-down sheds that marked its outskirts. They eventually turned into decently-sized but clearly dilapidated homes that had once belonged to the "middle-class" residents. Citra stared through the windows, watched as they passed by the once beautiful church that'd given the town its name, now fallen into disrepair. She hadn't been through here in years, but she remembered it as a well-populated place full of nice people. It disappointed her slightly to see how drab and lifeless it'd become. She wondered if her childhood home still stood, someplace not too far outside of town, but didn't find herself wanting to find out.

Dennis began to slow the vehicle, but she reached out a hand and grabbed his shoulder. "No! Not here. We still have a short distance to go. I remember it."

He looked at her, and could see a spark of energy flickering in her blue eyes. She was absolutely certain of herself, and he knew better than to question her. He picked up speed again and left the town, heading back into the jungle. Citra seemed far more attentive now, leaning forward in her seat to examine their surroundings, searching for even vaguely familiar landmarks. They'd driven only a few minutes up the road when she suddenly pointed to a small path through the trees coming up on their right, just barely visible through the ferns that overlapped it. "Stop! Right there. That's it."

Dennis brought the truck to a sudden stop, causing the warriors seated in the back to jolt forward violently and give muffled curses of indignation. The path was dark and overgrown, leading as far back into the trees as they could see, and quite obviously too narrow for the truck to pass through.

"…We will have to walk from here." said Citra. She opened the truck door and stepped out, briskly smoothing her short leather skirt. "I'll lead the way. Stay close to me, and bring the shovel."

She waited as Dennis went around to the back to help the warriors unload the coffin and then motioned at them to follow. She set off down the dark, winding jungle path, trying to remain within sight of her weighed-down followers, headed by Dennis, aiding by warning them of obstacles they could trip over.

It didn't take long for the thick canopy to completely block out the sunlight, cooling the air and plunging them into dusk-darkness. The thin path was certainly far more overgrown than it'd been the last time Citra had wandered down it, but even though she frequently had to shift aside huge fern fronds and low-hanging vines so she could pass she still felt like her feet were guiding her of their own accord, leading her down this pathway she'd once traveled so frequently it'd become permanently ingrained into her memories. She felt more certain with every step – they were going the right way.

A few minutes later she could hear the faint rumble of water rushing across stone, could smell the slight tinge of salt in the air, and she smiled with something almost like excitement. "We are almost there!" she called over her shoulder to Dennis and the straggling warriors. The canopy was thinning out now, the sunlight streaming through in places and dappling the ground in front of her until she left the shadows of the trees completely. She squinted her eyes against the sudden light, shielded them with a hand. They'd arrived on the sandy shore of a small river inlet that at its mouth came in from the sea, surrounded on all sides by forest, except to their left, where the gaping mouth of the entrance to a large cave could be seen.

"This way!" Citra jogged just inside the opening of the cave, waiting for her companions to bring up the rear. She put out a hand to touch the side, cool against her palm, covered in a thin layer of moss. Just like it'd always been. It was like… coming _home_.

She almost forgot about the others as she set off for the end of the cave, the water flowing in from the inlet narrowing into a briskly-flowing stream beside her. It wasn't a long walk; a minute later she stood at its exit, taking in what she hadn't seen since she was a child.

It looked exactly how she remembered it, as beautiful and untainted as ever (though the old rope bridge had apparently finally collapsed some time ago). A large lagoon, hidden away from the rest of the world, the rumble of the waterfall's song as it rained down upon the rocks the only sound to be heard; the waterfall that thundered through the maze of small caverns that she and Vaas had once made their playground, their place of safety and peace from the hostility of the islands around them, and of their own family.

A soft sigh passed through her lips, and she clasped a hand over her heart. She could almost hear the laughter of her and Vaas' adolescent selves, ringing off the sides of the cliffs as they partook in one of their many games of make-believe. So lost in her emotions she was she again didn't notice Dennis standing right beside her. He stole a sidelong glance at her, and saw the misty, tearful look in her eyes as she gazed at the environment before them. He didn't say anything. She was in another place. Another time.

It took a couple of minutes for her to come back to herself. "It… it would be easiest for us to go around the lagoon, on top of the ridge here…" She pointed to their right, where the shelf of rock they stood on now extended into a thin, naturally-formed "path" along the cliff wall to the caverns on the opposite side. "The bridge is gone and the rocks in the water are a slipping hazard… come on, this way. We are almost there…"

She cast a brief look of longing down at the clear blue waters before again taking the lead. Part of her wanted nothing more than to sit down on those rocks, dip her feet in it and just lose herself for a while, but she had more pressing matters to attend to.

It was tedious going to reach the other side on the mist-slicked pathway, but eventually they found themselves passing through the small intermingling caverns that Citra and Vaas had practically lived in as children. Their ceilings were not quite as accommodating for those of adult size, and they all had to lean forward slightly to avoid brushing their heads against them. She ran a steadying hand along the walls, the cool breeze passed along by the rumbling waterfall comforting against her skin. Her toe struck something loose jutting upward slightly from the ground; she looked down to see the hollowed-out body of a toy car, so heavily rusted and coated with moss that she could no longer tell what color it'd originally been. Either way, she knew in her heart – it'd once belonged to Vaas. She knelt down, tugged it free of the rocks, hugged it to her chest as she walked… the smallest remnant of a time she'd do anything to have back.

The caverns meandered to an end around the back of the cliff, opening upon a lush green hillside, the grass swaying gently in the warm afternoon breeze. The persistent, bittersweet nostalgia grew within Citra's chest as she began to follow it to the top, feeling like with every step she took she went a year back in time, until as she reached the crest of the hill she felt as though she were very small again.

The view hadn't changed a bit from the last time she'd seen it. The island and all the others beyond it spread out before her like a living tapestry, the ocean glittering in the sunlight so brightly she had to narrow her eyes against the glare. She hugged the degraded toy car tighter to herself, lost in contemplation at the last time she stood upon this cliff, in what felt like another lifetime.

Again she'd nearly forgotten her companions, huffing as they carried her brother's coffin up the hillside with aching arms and set it down behind her. She turned to face them as though surprised they'd actually followed her all this way, and as the one holding the shovel dug the blade into the damp soil to test its softness she held up a hand to stop him.

"I'll take it from here." she said, walking over and taking the shovel from his hands. "You are all free to wait back at the truck, or return to the temple if you so wish. I may be a while."

Dennis gaped at her in confusion. "Citra, please, let us handle it. You shouldn't trouble yourself with such matters, and what if you are ambushed up here on your own? It will take much less time if we all-"

"Dennis, _please_." She cut him off in irritation. "This… is between my brother and I. I should like to do this myself." She gazed down at the tomb of plywood and rusted metal, solemn and silent. "…He deserves that much."

At this point, Dennis knew better than to try and argue. Whatever unresolved turmoil existed between the two wayward siblings, it was clearly not for them to intervene in. He sighed and motioned to the tired troop of warriors to follow him back down the hill to the cavern path. "We will wait for you at the truck!" he called over his shoulder before they were out of sight.

Citra ignored him. She stood over the coffin, shovel in hand, feeling the harsh rays of the afternoon sun hot against her back, casting a long, dark shadow upon the corrugated surface.

After a few long moments, she forced herself to look away and thrust the blade of the shovel into the earth.

* * *

The sun was half sunken below the horizon before Citra patted the last shovelful of dirt back down atop her brother's grave. She was soaked in sweat, her muscles burning with exertion and the smell of fresh soil thick in her nostrils, but she scarcely noticed as she pushed herself to her feet and took in her handiwork: a patch of freshly-turned earth six feet long, four feet wide and just barely deep enough to comfortably contain the makeshift casket. It had taken longer than she'd expected; the ground had become quite hard the further down she'd dug, but the determination with which she'd faced the task had lent her the strength to see it through to the end. As the sky gradually deepened from orange to rich purple she used the light of the sun's last dying rays to gather a bundle of wildflowers from the grasses growing along the cliff, which she placed at the center of the grave, along with the old toy car, beneath a flat slab of rock she'd found embedded in the hillside and used as a marker, upon which she'd etched the following words with a small knife she kept on her person:

**VAAS MONTENEGRO**

**1985 – 2012**

**LOST SOUL**

**BELOVED BROTHER**

When at last she felt her work, her atonement, was complete, she sat beside her brother's final resting place to relieve her tired body, looking out across the islands, her kingdom, _their_ kingdom, enormous shapes like slumbering giants gradually swallowed up by shadows. The sun was but a red smudge on the ocean's surface, which now reflected the deep blue-black of the vast night sky, and every one of the countless shimmering dots of light glittering across it that, once upon a time, a little girl and her older brother had looked to with bright eyes and beaming smiles.

Citra laid back upon the cool grass, him on the right and her on the left, and watched the stars.


End file.
